First, Catharsis, in which a children's book author deals with the problems of having a pet dragon that most people mistake for a dog, as well as—guest?—appearances by her inner child. Sometimes ghastly drawing, jokes ranging from less than pointless to sharp-edged clever. Promising, but not yet there. If this lasts, these pages will probably be redrawn.

Second, the bilingual—English or French—Dragon Mango, about the well-loved but ill-educated daughter of a dragon-slayer and a human. The product of teamwork, this one is strong in both drawing and plot, although just how strong does not start to become apparent until about, say, page twenty. That's quite a ride...

And third, Skunk and Dragon, in which a thief and a dragon adventure in CGI 3-D. Yes, you do need the blue and red glasses, but they tell you where to get them. Very much like the gaming scenarios which probably inspired it and it's not quite clear yet whether the plot is going to take off. But the effect is spec-tacular, even if the spelling and punctuation are unusual.

For love of her daughter, the plan the witch woman devised was this: she offered Sigurd a drink laced with drugs and asked that he pledge her health, which he did right willingly. The drugs having overcome him and having forgotten Brynhilde, he married Gundrun, the king's daughter who desired the hero be her own.

But the witch's plans encompassed more than that her daughter get the husband of her choice but also that her son, Gunnar, be well wed. Who better to be his bride than the legendary Brynhilde? So it was that Sigurd rode with his brother-in-law to seek the bride of the witch's choice.

They came to the place where Byrnhilde was and it was surrounded by fire as it had been. Having failed to ride the flames on his own horse, and then failed to ride the flames on Grani, Gunnar used magic to take on the appearence of Sigurd and made Sigurd look like himself.

Then, once again, Sigurd mounted his horse Grani and leaped the flames. But the witch-wine having muddled his wits, he did not remember the warrior maiden, and the witch's son having changed his shape, Byrnhilde did not know him.

Having sworn she would marry the man who rode the flames, and thinking Sigurd had forgotten her despite his pledge and ring, she married Gunnar though she saw no joy in the deed, merely keeping her oath, as became a warrior maiden.

When everything was all past hope of alteration, Sigurd recovered his senses and memories and knew what had happened, yet he stayed silent, for no good could come of his speaking. But not even his silence was enough to turn the curse of gold, and evil soon came upon all of them, as had been wished and foretold.

Finally, for those of us living in the blacked-out regions of the planet, the US DVD of the first new season of Dr. Who in fifteen years, the one where the BBC finally gave up and unbelted enough to hire major star power and pay for CGI effects for skiffy. Have a jelly baby: The world is a better place when the universe is in the care of the Doctor.

Sigurd found the birds' advice good and so he slew Regin. Whereupon the birds began to sing of a maiden, guarded by fire. The hero remembered the tale and decided seeking her was an adventure worthy of him. But first, he went down into the dragon's lair, and, forgetting the curse laid upon the treasure, he took it all, including a helmet that made the man who wore it invisible.

He rode south with the treasure, and when it was night, he saw, on a hilltop, fire, and within that a stronghold, and upon that a banner. Sigurd's heavy-laden horse leaped through the flames lightly and willingly. Within the fortress he saw an armoured figure, lying as if sleeping, and removed the helmet. It was a woman of great beauty and that was Brynhilde.

The warrior maid waked, saying his name and that he had broken the curse. Sigurd pledged Brynhilde with that ring taken which had been taken from the dwarf's finger, then he rode away, leaving her in her fastness. It happened that he came to the house of a king who had a fair daughter named Gudrun, whose mother was a witch. When Gudrun fell in love with the hero, yet Sigurd spoke of no one but the warrior maid, the witch woman made a plan.

One cannot recommend this USA film too highly if you want to see "Opera Ghost" Gerald Butler sans mask and indeed sans most clothing. Since historical accuracy played little part in scripting Attila, it's probably better to just think of it as fantasy. It would be a natural as the second film of a double feature some rainy Saturday night. Unlike the Phantom of the Opera, Attila does get the girl. Also most of Asia and a large part of Europe, not to mention even with almost everyone unfortunate enough to have offended him.

Slated for an April 25, 2006 release on DVD, Aeon Flux was something
of a disappointment in the theaters, since it could not match the cliff-hanging episode by episode suspense of the animated MTV series. On the other hand, the movie has spawned such an array of additional material—among the offerings are an online interactive comic, a mini-series from Dark Horse, a video game, and surreal soundtrack—that if you like things dark, edgy, and either not-obvious or outright obscure, it's more than worth the click-through. Explore the feature-rich menu to the left of the screen. This one is likely, in the long run, to be a DVD cult favorite. However, the original series is available, and it might be best to watch that before the live action movie. After all, no mere human can match the supple lady in the black suit when she says quietly, "You might want to duck."

The widescreen DVD version of the movie contains a second disc filled with interviews with people who worked on the show and clips from various productions.

The voices of the singer/actors were in the stage productions were far superior to those chosen for the movie. The three major stars need voices that can at least approach opera, because nothing else but sheer vocal power and skill can convey the over the top emotions generated an opera performance, and it seems correct the Phantom, the dark soul of the Opera Populaire, should express himself forcefully in the idiom that surrounded him.

However, Andrew Lloyd Webber, who picked the movie cast himself, wanted "a rock voice" for the Phantom and that he did indeed get in Gerald Butler, who has the kind of dark presence the role needs but is failed—partially, perhaps, by lack of training, not potential—by his singing voice, which goes thin on top notes, fades out in sustains, and lacks volume. One wishes that show had been modified sufficiently to showcase what Butler can do—he is an exceptional physical actor—and gracefully conceal more of what he cannot.

Rex Harrison was splendid as Henry Higgins although he could bearly sing a note. It was he who cued the orchestra in My Fair Lady rather than the usual reverse since he was unable to follow the music and come in at the proper time. Of course, Webber, who is rumored to—as is reported on the DVD by lyricist Andrew Sillitoe—"change his lyricists as often as he changes his underpants" does not have the interplay with an equal that characterized the great duos of the Broadway stage, among which were My Fair Lady's Lerner and Lowe.

Also, the theater show was orchestrated simply and effectively in a rock style. Stage musicians are expensive and you pay them every time the show runs, even should you chose to use taped music, as many elaborate shows do: The musicians are paid base-rate union wage to do nothing. The movie has unfortunate moments as when the two lovers tenderly sing to one another, "Say you'll share with me one life, one lifetime," and someone's too heavy hand was on the mixing consol and someone else didn't say, "Tone that down!"

Perhaps this lack of feeling for the medium reflects how overwhelmingly the composer—and it is clearly Andrew Lloyd Webber who drives things—is part of the theater world, not that of the movies, where the camera can move in tight for emphasis and the soundtrack need not intrude into what's going on at logically quiet moments. There are other flaws in the movie considered as a movie and not as a record of the stage show, which it is not, and not intended to be.

Continuity is poor, with people who are wet appearing, seconds later in movie time, quite dry. Makeup colors morph from shot to shot. Collars, hair, and sleeves shuttle up, down, and all around as varying takes are combined. This is, alas, quite entertaining as Christine is being seduced onstage by the Phantom, for the neckline of her blouse rises and falls several times too many. One trip from naive child/woman to off-the-shoulder adult abandon would be more effective.

On the other hand the centerpiece chandelier—actually made in three versions—cost well over a million dollars for the "hero" version, which appears in all the shots except for the final crash and the re-assembled and rewired version in the opening. However, in the stage show, the thing falls very nearly onto the real, paying audience, and the thunderous crash in the movie, complete with diva wailing over the body of her slain fellow star, doesn't begin to match the shock of, "It's coming down on us!"

And I still haven't addressed why with all this nit-picking, what is, through numerous versions, revivals, and reworkings, a flawed work, Webber's Phantom of the Opera pulls in audiences and sends them away satisfied. Which it does do.

When the master smith was done working the shards of the sword, the blade was so sharp that fire seemed to burn along its edges. Sigurd swung it and the lump of iron parted. So he threw a lock of wool into the river and when the current pressed the wool against the blade, the lock parted. Therefore he said the sword would do.

But before he went off to fight the dragon, he led an army against that king who had killed his father, killed him, took all that man's wealth, and returned home. In a few days, Sigurd having fulfilled his father's wishes, he rode out with Regan to the place of the dragon, and saw the great track the beast had worn into into the earth and rock between its lair and its drinking place.

Sigurd dug pits into the track, and hid himself in one of them, keen-edged sword in hand. Presently the earth shuddered as the dragon, fuming deadly venom, came to drink. When half of the great worm had passed above him, the swordsman thrust his blade, Gram, into its heart. As it thrashed about, dying, it cursed its gold, so that he who slew him should get no good of it, and the young hero swore the gold was nothing to him.

As he returned he met Regin, who asked Sigurd to roast the dragon's heart and let him taste of it, and the young man went and put the heart on a stake and roasted it for his tutor. He touched the hot flesh, put his finger into his mouth to cool it, and heard and understood the birds as they talked to one another.

"There is Sigurd, roasting Fafnir's heart for another when it is he who should taste it and learn all wisdom."